It's Only Rock'N'Roll But I Like It
by Slut Queen Virgin King
Summary: Silly story. Everyone has the kissing disease. Rating - R for language, sex and unspeakable acts. R&R please.


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IT'S ONLY ROCK'N'ROLL BUT I LIKE IT

The first anyone at Hogwarts knew of it was blonde haired Blaise Zabini going crazy for Harry Potter. She presented at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall and interrupted Harry's breakfast of kippers. She sat at Harry's knee and gazed up at him longingly. 

Harry looked discomfited, as you would. Hermione raised an eyebrow. She was tired of all the liaisons Harry had going. Cho Chang in fifth year, Ginny Weasley during their sixth year, and that started the torrent. Was there a Ravenclaw or Gryffindor that hadn't succumbed to the Potter charm? 

But this display was too much. Hermione opened her mouth to say something, but the words caught in her throat. Blaise rose up and pashed Harry full on the mouth, unmindful of the kipper taste. Harry didn't react at first, but then a shiver went through him and it was as though a wind blew his hair. That must be some kiss.

He then returned Blaise's attentions with fervour. Hermione rolled her eyes. 

"Get a room!" she hissed.

The other House tables were gobsmacked, and watched with fascination/revulsion as the kiss became more involved.

Finally, the strange pair separated. Harry flicked back his hair.

"Thanks Linda," he said.

"Any time, Paul," she replied.

They gave each other longing looks as she retreated to the Slytherin table. Draco Malfoy immediately started haranguing her about her choice in men, never mind that he was last term's.

"Linda? Paul?" Ron Weasley asked.

Harry sang: "She loves me, yeah, yeah, yeah."

"Lusts you, maybe," Ron muttered.

Hermione frowned. Ron hadn't heard of the Beatles. Hardly any time in the Muggle world would do that to a wizard. But Hermione's parents were Muggle doctors. Her father was a big Beatles fan.

"Paul and Linda McCartney," Hermione said.

Harry heard her. "Yeah, love."

Hermione, well read to the point of nausea, memory like a Capricorn elephant with their moon in Scorpio, frowned. "I've heard of this. It's a wizard illness. The wizard or witch assumes the identity of someone famous in the Muggle world whom they resemble. Blaise must've caught it during the term break." Her nose wrinkled. "It's called The Kissing Disease."

Harry looked at her, glaze-eyed. "What am I doing, eating kippers? I'm vegetarian!" His usual Harry Potter attitude showed through. "No, I'm not. I love kippers." Then McCartney took him over again. "Yes, I am. I can't eat this." He pushed away his breakfast.

Ron grabbed at it. "Well, if you're not going to eat them, I will," he said.

He took a mouthful before Hermione could shout 'no'. Germs on the kippers.

"Fuck, these are fuckin' good," he said, sprawling in his chair and stuffing his gob.

Hermione tried to pull the plate away, but he slapped at her hands. "Gerroff, yer cow."

Ron had developed into a tall, thin redhead. Just like Johnny Rotten. Ron leaned over the table to Harry.

"McCartney, yer music sucks," he said.

Harry recited an indian mantra and tried to ignore Ron chewing with his mouth open. Then Ron spat at someone on the Hufflepuff table. It hit their face. She screamed, stood up, and undulated suggestively over her toast. Shakira had hit town.

"Professor Dumbledore!" Hermione shouted. "Professor, there's a problem!"

No need to shout. Several male teachers had all ready risen from their seats and were staring at Hufflepuff Shakira. The girl looked panicked behind her eyes. Her body ruled her, and it had other things in mind that eating breakfast. She ran her hands through a Hufflepuff boy's hair, bent down, kissed him. 

Dumbledore's wand froze them.

"Enough!" he said, his voice reverberating. "All those afflicted with the Kissing Disease will report to the Hospital wing, to Madam Pomfrey. Immediately!"

Harry, and Blaise rose from their seats. Ron flipped Dumbledore the bird.

"God save the Queen, and her fascist regime. And this one too!" he shouted, and jumped up on the table. "Who's with me for some Quidditch?"

Several mad Quidditch fans leapt to their feet. "Yeah!" At last, they had a leader. Ron lead them from the hall at breakneck speed. Several blasts from wands missed them. Bugger!

Dumbledore unfroze Shakira and her friend, who had turned into a young Johnny Cash.

"Thank y'all," he said to Shakira, bowing slightly, and his second-year voice suddenly deepening.

Harry and Blaise wrestled them out of the hall. Johnny didn't want to be imprisoned. Halfway through the castle, he broke free and made a run for it.

"The walls of a prison will never hold me," he warbled, in a passable baritone. He disappeared down a staircase, which shifted, and he was gone.

Harry, Blaise and Shakira made their way to the Infirmary.

Hermione stared at Harry's plate, and pushed it far from her.

On the Quidditch pitch were five people on brooms. All were wearing their fair share of safety pins. One girl had teased her hair and when someone took the Quaffle from her, she accused them of having a 'heart of glass'. She waved her wand. The Quaffle taker fell off his broom. One's body didn't work too well with a heart of glass. He dragged himself towards the Infirmary.

The Kissing Disease was notoriously contagious. Touch a person's skin, a few skin cells migrated. Moisture seeped through permeable skin. Faster if it was mucous membrane.

Madam Pomfrey, ageing, grey, her hair pulled back in plaits, didn't manage to treat Shakira before she put down her Normalising Potion and went off 'on the road again' to find Johnny Cash.

Fortunately Harry and Blaise had been innoculated with a great big noc. Blaise stared at Harry.

"I don't know what I ever saw in you," she said.

Pretty tame stuff, coming from a seventh year Slytherin who'd had years to practice insults. He shrugged, and went off to find Ron.

Breakfast was over, and students moved off to their normal classes. Everyone was wary of touching, so there was none of the usual bumping and crowding in the corridors. Very polite.

"After you."

"No, no, after you." All the while thinking 'I don't know who's touched that door handle before me'.

By mid-morning, Professor Dumbledore was spotted conjuring up a guitar and practicing the dance steps to "She's Got Legs".

Ron managed to spit on the whole Ravenclaw Quidditch class. The emergence of Nine Inch Nails wasn't too bad, but no one could take their eyes off Demis Roussos. The fat little third year burst into tears and made for the Infirmary. No point. Madam Pomfrey was harmonising with Johnny Cash and Patsy Cline.

Hermione thought she was safe. She wore gloves, didn't go within yards of anyone, and kept herself nice. She inhaled deeply in Potions. The class were all making cauldrons full of Normalising Potion. Surely the fumes would keep her safe. She leaned so far over her mixture she was in danger of falling in.

"Miss Granger, stand up straight," Snape said. "Five points from Gryffindor for unauthorised Potion sniffing."

"Yo, fuck you man and your broomstick too. Seven years of this and we all hate you." Jesus Mranda morphed into a rapper. He fled the dungeon, spilling his cauldron.

The Potion flooded the room. Hermione only realised she had a hole in her shoe when she felt warm liquid seap through and squelch around her toes. It was Jesus' potion, and the Viconium leaves had been shredded with his very own infected fingers.

Hermione had a small blister on one toe.

She tossed back her mane of hair, smiled in a sloppy manner, and advanced on Snape. Her voice was throaty.

"Hey," she said.

Snape backed up. "Miss Granger!" he warned, brandishing his wand.

She reached forward quickly, took it off him. "Bad Snape," she said.

He grabbed it back. Her hands were sweaty. She was wearing way too many clothes, in her own fabulous opinion. Suddenly, he thought so too.

He laughed, liquid, languid.

Bon Scott - Back In Black, and Courtney Love flaunting her wares in front of him. Rock and roll ain't noise pollution, but what they were about to do was. He reached for her.

"Dirty deeds, done dirt cheap."

The remaining 7th years stopped mopping the floor and stood transfixed. Who knew there was enough room on Snape's desk to do that sort of thing? Who knew that the fifth year sex education class would be followed up by a graphic prac in 7th year? Should Hermione really be doing that without kneepads? It was smearing her lipstick, too. As if that were a new thing for Courtney.

The second year Astronomy class ran for the showers. Professor Sinistra had let down her hair, climbed up on the balustrade, morphed into Christina Amphlett and done something unspeakable on them. Pass the soap! Pass the flannels! Pass the goddamned bleach!

Madam Trelawney peered out of her Divination Tower window. What on earth was happening down there? She saw Ron Weasley(never the most promising Divination student) holding down Vincent Chang from 4th year, and piercing his ear with a safety pin.

She ventured halfway down the staircase. There was the disturbing sight(she didn't need her third eye to see this) of Hagrid singing opera.

"Antarcticio!" Trelawney said, gently tapping Hagrid with her wand.

Hagrid froze in mid-boom.

Trelawney tiptoed down the rest of the stairs. She so rarely did so that the smell of non-incensed air was shocking to her. At the bottom of the stairs Dumbledore was playing a bad rendition of 'La Grange' on his guitar. Trelawney froze him.

It took her most of the day, but by treading lightly and carrying a big wand, she was able to immobilise the whole school. Trelawney made sure not to touch a single person. Hardly anyone knew she'd served as a Diviner and nurse during the Voldemort troubles years ago. She knew the Kissing Disease when she saw it. She herself had spent an unpleasant few hours as Nancy Sinatra, and still had the boots to prove it.

The hospital wing was all but deserted. Blaise Zabini was hiding in a cupboard, terrified that Draco Malfoy/Blonde Ambition Madonna would make another advance upon her body. Harry Potter was trying to magic up multiple vials of Normalising Potion. He wasn't having much success, as Alice Vong, transformed into Yoko Ono was focussing her attentions on him. If one couldn't find John, then Paul would do.

Harry pushed her away again. "Why don't you go bother Snape?" he pleaded. "His nose is big enough to be Ringo Starr."

Alice twined her arms around him.

Trelawney froze them. Harry had managed only another twenty vials of potion. Trelawney set to work. She foresaw a busy night ahead. Such is the burden of a Diviner.

It wasn't easy to open each and every frozen mouth at Hogwarts and pour potion in. One student thought he was Gene Simmons and had his tongue out. Awkward, but a well-poked wand helped matters along, Trelawney discovered.

Hermione Granger was easy enough to dose. She was laying down, face up. But Professor Snape was laying face down. Trelawney sighed. Only one thing for it. She took the potion into her mouth, inserted her face between the two of them, pried open Snape's mouth, and spat the potion in. There was something she never predicted having to do, in her entire life! Her talents must be slipping.

Professor Sinistra had to be levitated off the balustrade and dosed. She was the last one.

Trelawney noticed the sun rising. She dragged herself to the top of the Astronomy Tower, to the very highest stone, and shouted:

"Melt Totalis!"

The school came to life. Everyone found themselves with a mouth full of potion, and convulsively swallowed.

Malfoy saw what he was wearing and locked himself in the nearest bathroom.

Ron Weasley got off the boy's chest and dropped the safety pin. 

Professor Sinistra found herself embarassingly wet.

Professor Dumbledore calmly dissapated his guitar and went back to work, humming.

Professor Snape stared down. Hermione Granger stared up. He disengaged himself with as much dignity as possible, considering the room full of students. He thought he'd be lucky to make it out of the room without a bullet in his….back.

Trelawney found her bed, back in the Divination Tower. Her third eye ached. Her wand arm hurt. She'd walked a long way in the past twelve hours. Her feet hurt in their little bejewelled slippers. She'd had to do mouth-to-mouth on Snape. Trelawney thought she deserved a sedative and a good lie down. And possibly another raise.

Professor Flitwick tried to restore order in his class.

"Shut up, you little prune-faced git!" shouted Ginny Weasley.

It was the time of year. If it wasn't one school illness, it was another. Bring on the dissing disease.

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Sorry about this one, everyone. One has strange thoughts late at night when one is listening to music and reading at the same time. - Slut Queen.


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